Changes
by Flyteh
Summary: One choice, one decision, can change your life forever... Cobb/Ariadne
1. Prologue

**a.n. **So, I went to university with the intention of learning stuff and working on assignments but spent the day daydreaming instead. This is what I came up with – an idea for my first multi-chapter _Inception _fanfic. This is just the premise, but expect a lot of angsty Dom/Ariadne in the chapters ahead...

**disclaimer. **I don't own Inception or any of the characters within it. Tragic, I know.

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**Changes**

**.Prologue.**

I've never been one to believe in fate.

To me, the idea that someone up above is looking down and pulling strings with some master plan in mind is just an excuse for weak-minded people to give up and lock away their dreams. I do, however, believe in self-determination. I believe in choices. I believe that one choice, one decision, can set in motion a chain of events that can change your life and the world as you know it forever.

I know this because that's what happened to me...

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**a.n. **Are you excited? I know I am! Expect updates soon, and be sure to leave review. I'm always open to your opinions and ideas.


	2. Shatter

**a.n. **I intended this chapter to set up a few things as well as to allow a little insight into Ariadne's worldview. Though there is a significant amount of Ariadne/Arthur happening here, rest assured that Dom will get his turn.

**disclaimer. **Inception = not mine!

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**Changes**

**.Shatter.  
**

It's been six months since that first job. Everything's changed. It's as if everything that was real in the world has been washed away and replaced with something entirely different. Then again, that's not quite true. The world hasn't changed.

I have.

Reality isn't enough anymore. University used to be my life, but the whole thing is just so damn normal I can hardly stand it. I haven't dropped out yet, but I'm seriously considering it. After all, I have a job now. I work with dreams. I am an architect.

I've done quite a few jobs since that first one, that's another change. Arthur is running his own extraction business now – under the radar, of course – so I head down to his office every weekend to help him out.

I live for these weekends. For the moments I can build entire cities with nought but a single thought. Like everything, this skill takes practice and because of that, I'm even better than I used to be. I can build mountains of glass and carve rivers through deserts. I can fill the sea with stars and loop the sun around the planets, and I can send all of it crashing down if I want to. I feel like a god in these moments. Artist and creator of my very own worlds.

Arthur has noticed these improvements, of course. I catch him looking at me mid-mission sometimes, as if in awe of what I've created. Sometimes, I even catch him fiddling with that loaded die of his, rolling it around in his palm as if to check that none of it is real. I've come to crave these moments. Building these worlds, fulfilling these missions and earning those glances give me purpose. I feel like I belong.

That feeling is shattered the day I show Arthur the world that I've been working on. I've taken my time with it, drawing sketch after sketch, reading books and watching countless movies for inspiration.

It's beautiful, if I do say so myself – an entire city built amongst the clouds. There's a tower in the centre, fragrant flowers coiled around it. Atop it, sits a crystal spire. When the sunlight hits it just right, rainbows shimmer across the sky.

Arthur doesn't say it anything when he sees it. He just stands there for a moment before doing something completely unexpected. A loud 'bang' that sends birds screeching from the trees is the only warning I get before he falls beside me on the ground.

I stare at the redness leaking from his head for a moment before I feel myself falling backwards. In an instant, I'm back in the office, lying on the same suddenly flat deckchair I'd fallen asleep on.

The world slowly comes into focus as I blink my eyes, groggily. It is then that I can make out Arthur's form towering over me like a stone totem. He looks stern – all thin lips and cold eyes – and for a moment I'm afraid I've done something terribly wrong. I sit up and match his gaze, propping the deckchair up behind me.

"You think it's ugly," I say. It's a statement not a question.

He shakes his head, 'no', before crouching down before me. Our eyes are level now, and his breath is ghosting across my lips. I am suddenly aware that those awestruck glances I've been catching of late haven't been directed at my work, they've been directed at...

"I think it's beautiful. The only thing more beautiful is you."

In an instant, his breath is replaced by his lips, brushing gently across my own before pulling back completely. I can feel his gaze on me then, testing me. He waits, and with each passing second, it becomes clear just how much he wants this.

Something inside me shatters a little at his need. I don't feel the same, I know that much, but he holds the keys to the world I love so much and I can't bring myself to lose them to him. It is for this reason that I stroke his cheek, cupping his jaw in the palm of my hand before leaning in to return his kiss. He moans a little at the contact and I can feel him pushing me backwards to allow him space to mount the deckchair.

"Ariadne..." he mutters, showering kisses across my neck.

My name sounds foreign on his tongue like it doesn't belong there. He shouldn't say it like that, voice breathy and cracked. He's my friend, I love him. Just not in that way.

It's my architecture that gets me through in the end, as he moves and pants above me. This thing we've started has brought us closer, and so long as we're close I'll never lose that other world that is fast becoming my home. I belong there, I think.

More than I ever will here.

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**a.n. **Gasp! One chapter in and already with the smut. I clearly can't help myself. But you like it, right?


	3. The Place I'd Rather Be

**a.n. **I've got an idea where this story is going, but it's rather hazy to be honest. I'm very interested to see how it turns out, though. I don't usually write like this so it's a bit of an experiment. Also, thanks a lot to all those who have reviewed so far. You guys keep me writing!

**disclaimer. **Inception = not mine!

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**Changes**

**.The Place I'd Rather Be.  
**

I've been sleeping a little too well lately. Even on a normal morning, Arthur has to all but push me out of bed before I stir. He tells me it's probably got a lot to do with the job and all the work we've been doing lately. He thinks I might be pushing myself too hard, that I might have screwed over my sleeping schedule for good this time.

I know better, of course. Work and stress have nothing to do with it, I'd rather just stay asleep. I'm an architect, after all. I can craft my dreams right down to the smallest speck of dust. I can't do that with reality. That's something over which I have absolutely no control.

Arthur doesn't know any of this, and that's definitely for the best. He loves me, after all. It would kill him to find out.

It's for this reason that I force my eyes open when he shakes me for the fifth time. It's for this reason that I smile at him, and kiss him back when he leans down to brush his lips against my own. It's for this reason that I let him lift up my nightgown and shower kisses across my breasts and stomach, down my legs all the way to my toes. It's for this reason that I ride him slow and languidly, the way I know he likes, and it's for this reason that I shout my satisfaction and hold him tight when he comes.

We shower together before heading down to the kitchen for breakfast. Arthur makes cereal while I opt for toast because it's easier to eat while checking my emails. As usual, I have several messages from potential clients. One is of particular interest – something about someone wanting to extract information from the mind of some powerful foreign leader. It doesn't go into any more detail that that, they never do, but it does contain a telephone we can use to find out more. I call Arthur over and ask what he thinks.

"It sounds interesting," he agrees, stroking my hair as he looks over my shoulder. "I'll call them once I've finished my coffee."

I finish my toast, wash my plate and flick through one of my textbooks, trying not to act too impatient as Arthur drains his drink and scans the newspaper. It's at times like this, I am grateful for not having dropped out of university. It provides a welcome distraction, at the very least.

After what seems like an eternity, Arthur closes the newspaper and stands to wash out his mug. It's only then that he makes towards the phone. I can't help but hold my breath as he dials the number, though I stare at my textbook and pretend not to notice. In the time that it takes him to complete to call, I must have re-read the same line at least a hundred times.

"So, what happened?" I ask, keeping my voice casual.

"Nothing, the client was very tight lipped. Even used a distorter of some sort to disguise his voice. He did, however, ask that I meet him downtown in an hour or so. Are you right to get to university by yourself?"

I nod my head, crestfallen. It didn't look as if I'd be doing any architecture any time before first period. A crying shame, if you ask me. Still, I smile at him and meet him halfway when he bends down to kiss me.

"I'll see you this afternoon, Ariadne."

"Yeah, have a good day."

He walks out the door after that leaving me alone with naught but my textbooks and a head of whirling emotions. How long am I going to be able to keep this up? I wonder. I care about him, I really do, but I just don't love him the same way he seems to love me. What's worse is the way I am blatantly using him. If it wasn't for the fact that he's my one and only link to the world of dream architecture – my sole fulfillment in life – I'm more or less certain I wouldn't even be here.

But what can I do? I can't leave him, and I most certainly can't tell him. I feel trapped and afraid, locked into a shitty situation I can't get out of. There's nothing I can do.

Then again, that's not quite true. There's always one place I could go, one place where everything is perfect – just the way I want it.

I don't make it to first period that day. I spend the day in bed.

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**a.n. **If you've got opinions or ideas, be sure to let me know. They inspire me!


	4. No Choice

**a.n. **Things really start heating up this chapter. Also, Arthur's name is 'Lautus' for the purpose of this story. Apparently, it means refined in Latin. I thought it suited him perfectly.

**edit. **I put this chapter up, went out and thought, wait... There's not _nearly _enough angst happening here. So I changed the ending a little. Much better, I think :)

**disclaimer. **Inception = not mine!

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**Changes**

**.No Choice.  
**

I make a point of getting up before Arthur gets home. It's a struggle but it's a hell of a lot easier than having to explain my desperate wanting to spend my every waking moment asleep.

I drag myself to the kitchen table and plonk myself in front of this week's course readings. I flick over them – reading the headings and skimming the paragraphs – but I might as well not even bother. My heart's just not in it. My brain is a sieve. Every sentence, every word, just slips straight through.

Still, I persist, more to distract myself than to further my knowledge. It seems to help. Before I know it, it's three o'clock. Then four. Then five.

Six o'clock follows, and it strikes me that Arthur has still to return. The first inklings of worry begin to gnaw at my chest, and by seven o'clock they've mutated into full-on bites. This isn't like Arthur. Punctuality is a virtue to him; he's meticulous to the marrow. In all the time I've known him, he's never once been late.

I pick up my cell phone, hoping that perhaps I missed his call. No such luck. His last call to me is dated yesterday, a courtesy call to ask whether I needed a lift home from university. I hadn't, and there's been nothing since. I suppose I could call him but then again, there's really no point. He never has his cell phone on while on a job because in this line of work, one distraction can equal instant failure.

I call him anyway, and his phone rings out. Straight to message bank, no surprise there.

_You've reached Arthur Lautus. Leave a message after the tone..._

I've always believed the messages people leave on their answering machines suggest a lot about them. Arthur's is clear and to the point, laced with innate sophistication much like he is. It comforts me to hear his voice. It would take something big to pull one over on a man with a voice like that...

I've barely completed this thought when suddenly, I hear the unmistakable sound of someone sliding a key into the front door lock. I straighten and leap to my feet, just in time to see Arthur walk in. A breath I didn't know I was holding flutters from my chest. He's okay, he's...

Arthur turns to look at me, and the expression on his face is enough to inform me that everything is most certainly _not_ okay. I open my mouth to ask what's wrong but before I know what's happening, he's baring down on me, grabbing my face in both his hands and kissing me until neither of us can breathe. I've never been kissed like this by him before, not by anyone. It's wild and out of control, and against his very nature. It's almost almost as if he feared he'd never see me again.

He crushes me to his chest as a small involuntary sound of distress escapes my throat. He kisses my head, and I grip the lapels of his suit in an effort to comfort him. I can't help but notice he doesn't smell like his usual cologne. He smells like sweat. Like blood.

"What the hell happened to you?" I ask.

He pulls back from me slightly, but doesn't quite release me. I look into his eyes. They're hollow in his head and there are creases around them that I've never seen before.

"The guy was a fed."

My mouth falls open a little at that. If what Arthur says is true, then he's lucky not to be having this conversation with me over a prison phone. "You're kidding me?"

"No." He steps back from me and walks towards the kitchen bench, taking the edge of it in both hands and gripping until his knuckles are white. "I went to the meeting place just as we arranged and before I knew it, two guys in suits came up to marching up to me, flashing badges. Told me I could either go with them or have my arse thrown in jail."

"Where did they take you?"

"No idea." He hangs his head, and I can't help but notice how he shudders a little at the memory. "They shoved me in the back of a car, put a bag over my head and drove for what felt like an hour. When we finally stopped, they marched me into the elevator of some building and took me down to what looked like a basement. Some four-star general called Mac was waiting for me there." He pauses and pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger as if to stave off a headache. When he finally speaks, his voice is almost a groan. "He knew about our operation. He knew everything."

"But how?"

"Jesus, Ariadne!" He swings around, suddenly sounding angry. Though I know he'd never hurt me, I can't help but jump a little. "This is the feds we're talking about!"

This isn't good. The business of extraction isn't exactly legal so despite the fact that Arthur's standing before me now, I don't imagine we got off scot-free. I brace myself for what's to come.

"They want me to do a job for them. They want you to help."

I press my lips together in an effort to keep my expression neutral. Though Arthur's tone suggests that the job is going to be far from pleasant, I can't help but feel a tingle of excitement in my belly at the thought of architecture work.

"What do we have to do?"

"They've captured a prisoner. Part of a terrorist cell, apparently. The feds want information out of him but he refuses to talk so they want us to perform an extraction."

"Don't they have their own people for that?"

"Of course, they do. But this guy's mind is so heavily fortified that apparently one of their own men died during their last attempt to get in..."

"What's the big deal about that? He would have just woken up, wouldn't he?"

Arthur doesn't reply to that, but I know from his expression that my assumption is wrong.

The colour drains from my face a little. This is beyond anything we've ever faced. As much as I love architecture, I'm not sure I'm ready to put my life on the line after what almost happened last time. I'm not sure that I'll ever be ready. "Can't we just run? Go somewhere far away where they can't find us?"

Arthur squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head. He looks scared and the sight alone is enough to make the bottom fall out of my stomach. "We can't hide from these people. If we don't go back, they're going to drag us back. And it won't be pretty..."

"Are we even prepared to do this? I mean, you're good at extraction, you're getting better, but Cobb was always the one..."

"Don't say that, Ariande! Don't even _think_ it!" His voice rises an octave as he says this, as if phoning the man who was once his best friend for help is the worst possible thing he can think of.

My heart breaks a little. "But Arthur..."

"I said, _don't. _We've got a week, we can work something out."

I don't believe it.

I don't think he does, either.

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**a.n. **Gasp! Poor Arthur and Ariadne! What are they going to do? Please review!


	5. Rift

**a.n. **The last chapter I posted on FF net had to be edited twice while on the site and even though I promised myself not to post chapters without careful deliberation, I simply can't help myself. I blame your reviews. I love reading them so much, I simply can't wait to hear what you have to say next. So, keep them coming. You'll get more chapters that way :)

**disclaimer. **Inception = not mine

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**Changes**

**.Rift.  
**

It's been six months since Arthur and Cobb last spoke.

Lord knows that Arthur has tried to call, tried to write, tried everything short of showing up on his doorstep... But Cobb never answers. It doesn't take a genius to work out why. When Cobb said the inception gig was his last job, he meant it.

So, it's been five months since Arthur's last attempt to contact Cobb, and four months since Arthur banned any mention of his name. The progression was methodical. _I'll call him. He'll call me when he's ready. Fuck him! I don't care if he ever calls!_

He'll never admit it, but I know he misses him. He's just too proud to say it.

Which is why getting Arthur to make the call is going to be a problem...

"Listen, Ariadne," he almost shouts five days after his run-in with the feds. "He won't talk to me ordinarily let alone to persuade him to do a job! The bastard's much too stubborn. Besides, it's not his war, and he has his kids to think about."

His voice trails off a little at the end, and though he understands Cobb's reasoning, I know it kills him that his best friend wants nothing to do with him.

"He has you to think about," I counter. "Us. Cobb is a reasonable man. I'm if you explained the situation to him, he'd –"

"Turn us down, that's what. He'd pick himself and his kids over us any day, so would any man."

"You can't be sure."

"We knew the risks, Ariadne. I don't need him to remind me."

He storms out of the house with that, leaving me wondering where the cool, calm and collected Arthur I once knew disappeared to. That man was a rock, I recall. Nothing could ruffle him.

Which makes me wonder, has Arthur changed or did simply I not know the real him before now? Or maybe he's the same, and this situation is simply worse than I ever could have imagined.

These questions and the more pressing ones of how exactly we are going to deal with this situation gnaw at me for the rest of the afternoon. They gnaw at me so hard that my head starts to hurt, throbbing in time with the iron fist that has begun to tighten around my heart. I want to sleep – get away for a while – but try as I might, my mind won't shut down. I'm scared, I realise. I've never been so scared in my life.

When I was frightened or stressed as a child, I used to write down my problems and post them away. It was a stupid ritual and I bet it pissed off the postal workers, but it nevertheless seemed to help.

Giving up on sleep, I decide to give the ritual a go for lack of a better idea. I shuffle downstairs and easily find a pad of paper by the phone. A pen, however, is not so easily found. I'm always losing the ones in my pencil case so I must have taken the last of Arthur's last time I was here.

Down but not out, I head into Arthur's study where I'm sure I'll be able to find one. I'm not usually allowed in here, but what Arthur doesn't know won't hurt him.

Arthur's study is the spacial equivalent of Arthur's personality. It's modern and minimalist, decked out in fine Italian furniture that one might find in a catalogue entitled: _For the suave and sophisticated metrosexual man_. Though the rest of Arthur's apartment is of a similar design, he has a special connection with this room. I know this because on the few occasions I haven't woken up in his bed beside him, I've found him here, sleeping at his desk.

I walk up to the desk (which is made from wood undoubtedly more expensive than my entire college dorm room), and scan the top for a pen. A fine looking ball-point with Arthur's name inscribed on it catches my eye instantly, but it doesn't hold my attention.

However, a piece of paper with Dom Cobb's name on it does.

Unable to help myself, I pick the paper up. It's a letter. One of many if the pile of scrunched up balls in the waste basket is anything to go by.

_Dom,_

_I know you don't want to hear from me and I've respected that by staying away from you. However, something has happened that has put Ariadne and I in grave danger. We need your help. Please understand that I wouldn't ask otherwise._

– _Arthur _

So, Arthur has been trying to get in touch Cobb. The proof is in my hands, though it's much too late to send it. He will have to call. There is no other choice.

"What are you doing in here?"

I swing around, and find myself face to face with Arthur. The paper is still in my hand; I've been caught red handed. There's no point trying to lie my way out of this one.

"You have to call him."

His dark eyes flash as he walks towards me and for a second, I'm actually afraid he might strike me. It doesn't come to that, thankfully, but he does snatch the letter from my hand and it crumples in his grip. It mimics his expression.

"I know."

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**a.n. **I'm thinking I might do the next chapter in Cobb's point of view... What do you think? Should I switch between them from now on? I think I should... It'll be more rounded that way.


	6. The Knowing

**a.n. **Sorry for the slow update. I've been busy with uni and what not, but that's finished for another year so hopefully things will move along a little faster now. Also, thank-you so much for your reviews and favourites. They made this happen so keep them coming.

**disclaimer. **I don't own Inception or any of the characters within it. Tragic, I know.

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**Changes**

**.The Knowing.**

It's been six months since that last job.

I still don't dream much. When I close my eyes, I don't see pictures, I don't see blackness. I don't see anything. I'm simply catapulted from night into morning without any recollection of how I got there. But just because I don't dream doesn't mean I don't think.

I do think.

I think about _her_...

I think about her laugh. Her smile. Her beautiful eyes. The feel of her satin skin on mine. Sometimes, she's standing before me – close, but just beyond my reach. Sometimes, she's just out of sight – a flash of dark hair rounding a corner, a pretty girl sliding into a car. Other times, it's worse than that... I can smell her, taste her, like she's in the air all around me, in the oxygen I breathe.

It makes me stop, it makes me smile.

It makes me choke.

Thankfully, Phillippa and James take more after me than her. They have my hair, my eyes, and a little of my nose, as well. But sometimes, I see her there. In Phillipa's laugh; in James' smile... When I catch those glimpses, something clenches in my chest. I can't look at them. I can't –

I'm no better than I was the moment she stepped off that balcony.

But I'm trying. Every. Single. Day. I want to be a good father. I want to be there – teaching them, guiding them, protecting them, loving them. I want them know I'll never leave them like I did before. Like their mother did.

It was my fault. I took her from them.

And I was stupid to think I could forget that.

#####

I've started drinking. At first, it was only a couple of scotches before bed to help me sleep, but lately I've been almost finishing the bottle. I've been careful about it – making sure to rise on time, taking care to hide the bottles... No one's noticed yet. But they will soon. I know better than anyone that you can't hide your problems forever. Try as you might, you can never outrun them.

These thoughts aren't enough to stop me from pouring a fresh glass. I knock it back, and the cool liquid burns a molten trail down my throat. It feels good. Better than I should. And it makes it easier to sleep. _She _doesn't bother me when I'm this far gone.

But my phone does. I hear it ringing – shrill, loud and annoying. I reach across the kitchen table for it, nearly knocking the bottle over for my efforts.

"Dom Cobb speaking." The slur in my words is unmistakable.

"Dom? Is that you?"

I freeze. My grip on the phone tightens, yet it almost falls out of my hand.

That rich, smooth voice... I'd know it anywhere.

"I thought I told you never to call me again."

This is the reason I have caller ID.

I should have checked it. Waited for voicemail. Turned my phone off all together.

How could I be so _fucking _stupid?

"Jesus, Cobb. Are you drunk?"

"What the fuck's it to you?"

I'm tempted to hang up. A call from this man can't possibly bode well.

But something stops me.

"Fuck, Cobb. I—"

There's a strain in his voice. Something foreign, out of place. Desperation.

Fear.

"Something bad has happened."

Hang up the phone. Hang up the _goddamn _phone!

"I – I need your help."

A groan wells up in my chest, but it doesn't quite make it past my lips.

This is why I am no longer an extractor. Why I cut my ties, moved to the other side of the country.

This is why we were never supposed to speak again.

"You know I can't."

He sighs. A broken sound that tears at something in my chest.

"I have a family now, Cobb. It's not just me anymore."

"Then you understand why this conversation is over."

I hang up the phone. It clicks shut, and all the strength disappears from my body. I slump forward, boneless, barely able to support myself. It strikes me that I've felt this way once before. The day after _she_ died. It's the feeling of knowing...

Knowing you've just killed your best friend.

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**a.n. **Whoa, shit! Cobb did what? What's going to happen next? Ideas?

Constructive feedback greatly welcome! :D


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